On not missing my husband… all that much
My husband opened a business just a few months before our daughter was born. He worked 12-14 hour days, 7 days a week, but had no income. I was the only wage earner, and often the only parent in the house. I referred to myself as a single mother.
I now know, looking back, that I was never truly a single mother. If he’d been completely absent from my life, my life would have been a lot harder. He actually was around sometimes, even if I didn’t want to admit that to myself. He did occasionally fix or do things that I just could not fix or do. If nothing else, he took the trash to the curb without fail.
ONE DESPERATE HOUSEWIFE
And it was just that small amount of time and effort of his that seemed to keep me afloat as I tried to balance a demanding career with a demanding child. Our daughter did not sleep through the night until around age 2. She developed colic when she was a few weeks old. The crying started around noon and lasted past midnight.
She refused bottles, preferring the boob. Later, she refused solids, preferring breast milk. She suffered one illness after another—runny noses, high fevers, ear infections, skin infections, pink eye, and GI bugs. Her terrible twos started at age 1 and lasted until age 3.
And, so, it was when he went out of town and left me completely alone that I fell apart and, oddly, so did she. He would go off on a ski trip here, a business trip there. Whenever he was gone, she slept even less than usual, got sicker than usual, and was crabbier than usual. I felt more exhausted than usual, more desperate than usual, and more alone than usual.
And I realized, during those weeks, that I could not make it as a single mother. I missed him, but not in the way a wife misses her husband when a marriage is strong. I didn’t miss him hugging me or talking to me. I missed what he did. I missed him in a physical way. I needed him, even if I didn’t want to need him.
Flash forward to now.
Our daughter still pitches fits at bedtime, but she generally sleeps through the night. She still occasionally has temper tantrums. She still whines, of course. Yet, for the most part, she’s a delightful little girl, one who makes me laugh, helps me relax, and often shows me an alternative view of the world.
My husband doesn’t work quite as much as he used to. He also has an income now, and our marriage is stronger.
This week he was away, in Las Vegas at a cycling show. I dread this annual business trip. I’ve conditioned myself to hate being the lone parent in this house.
Yet, I have to say, I haven’t missed him, at least not in the physical way that I’ve missed him in the past. Nothing has broken that I could not fix. Our daughter did not get sick. Even the dog has been easy this week. I feel calm, rested, and at peace with motherhood.
WHEN THE SHOE FETISH FITS
Last night, I took our daughter to swimming class, something my husband usually does. After swimming, we went to her favorite family style restaurant, again, something she usually does with Daddy. Then we walked around an outdoor mall, the same mall she usually walks with Daddy.
We passed a shoe store. I looked longingly in the window at the various types and styles of shoes.
I slowed my pace. Would she behave herself for just a few minutes while I walked through the store? I’d stopped trying to shop with her long ago, around the time she became mobile. It seemed as soon as I turned my back, she’d run off and I’d experience that horrible, horrible sensation of not knowing the location of my child. When she wasn’t running off, she was complaining, “Are you done yet? Mommy I want to go!”
I’m not much of a shopper as it is. To me, clothes shopping is a necessary evil, something I generally only do when I absolutely have nothing appropriate to wear.
Shoes, however, are different. They’ve always been different. To me, shoes are not just something one wears on one’s feet. Shoes are artwork that one collects. I am no Carrie Bradshaw, mind you. No heels or super expensive brand names for this mom. No, $150 is a huge splurge for me. The vast majority of shoes in my collection cost less than $80. I love every single pair, though.
Would she? Could she?
“Honey, I’d like to go in this store. I’m not going to try anything on or buy anything. I just want to look. Will you come with me?”
“Sure Mommy,” she said.
We walked in. I ran my fingertips over various pairs of Danskos, Noats, and El Natura Listas.
“Wow, look at these,” I said, picking up a pair of red clogs.
“No, Mommy, look at these!” she said, pointing to a red, metallic, shiny, leopard print Dansko clog.
“Wow is right,” I said, walking toward her. The shoe would go with nothing. I’d have to buy an entire outfit to match the shoe, but I was in love. Just in love. I cradled it as I watched her buzz around the store. She brought me another pair of shoes, also Danskos, but fashioned with a cloth-like, multi-color thread exterior.
“Oh, I’ve looked at those before,” I purred. “I like shoes. This is fun.”
“I like shoes, too, Mommy,” she said. “I think I need another pair.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” I said laughing, just as I knew I didn’t either. I put down my leopard loves and we walked out of the store together, hand in hand.
MY LITTLE BOY GIRL
I’ve often been mystified by my daughter. She loves Spider-Man, Pokemon, and the Transformers. She plays with trucks, balls, hockey sticks, and things that shoot into the air. She burps, loudly. She thinks it’s hysterical when Daddy asks her to pull his finger. She watches Monster Trucks and Formula One races.
Her bedroom walls are decorated with Lightening McQueen stickers. Her sheets depict Spider-Man. She wears hand-me-downs from her boy cousins. She won’t get caught dead in pink, lace, frill or anything that resembles something a princess might wear. She’ll be dressing up as a pirate for Halloween.
Her latest shoe purchase was a pair of silver and “slime green” Nickelodeon Slimers, from the boy’s section of the shoe store.
As I like to say, she’s “all boy.” And truth be told, when I was her age, so was I. I ran around shirtless. I played with Matchbox cars. My most memorable toy was the Stretch Arm Monster, and I still rue the day my younger brother speared him with pencils just to see what color the goo was on his insides. (Yes, Little Bro, I will never forgive you for that).
I was “all boy,” too, and still am to some extent. But I do love my shoes, just as my daughter loves hers.
As we walked around the mall, my hand in hers, I realized just how much we were alike, she and I.
As we drove home, I said, “I really had fun with you tonight.”
She said, “I had fun with you, too, Mommy.”
DO I MISS HIM?
Shopping for shoes with my little Boy Girl was a gift and, had Mr. Strong and Silent not been away, the gift would have gone unopened.
After putting her to bed last night, I thought about Friday evening, when Mr. Strong and Silent would arrive at the airport. He’d offered to have a friend pick him up at the airport. Usually, I prefer this scenario. Usually I’m too busy to add shuttling him to and from the airport to my to-do list.
But no, we’ll go, she and I. We’ll go because I can’t wait to see him. I can’t wait to hug him again. I can’t wait to hear his voice and tell him about my week. I can’t wait to explain how much our daughter loves shoes, how she’s just like her mother.
I miss him. I do, but not in the ways I’ve missed him in the past. I don’t miss him because I need him. Now, I do have what it takes to be a single mother. I could do this without him. That much is true.
I miss him because I want him.
This time, I miss him for all the right reasons.
TODAY’S PROJECT POINTERS
* Spend time away from your spouse. Have separate nights out. Occasionally sleep in different beds. Go away for a weekend every now and then. The time away allows you to find your center. It allows you to remember who you are, and it allows you to appreciate all of the little things about your spouse that you usually take for granted.
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March 16th, 2009 at 4:10 pm
I wanted to comment and thank the author, good stuff